


In The Beginning (There Were Pies and Awkward Text Messages)

by shannie541



Series: Reunited (And It's About To Be Awkward As Fuck) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because Sam was (is?) a douche, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Dean Winchester Angst, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Dean and Sam are not close, Dean-Centric, Doctor Castiel, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, EMT Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Paramedic Dean, Stress Baking, aka the John tags, some tags apply to the 'verse as a whole and not this specific work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannie541/pseuds/shannie541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hasn't seen or spoken to Sam in four years. He stress bakes to deal with the fact that his brother has blown into town after cutting off all points of communication. He's freaking out (and stress baking) but Charlie comes along and does her duty as a best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Beginning (There Were Pies and Awkward Text Messages)

Dean tries to keep his focus steadily on sifting together the dry ingredients for the pie crust – unabashedly ignoring the way his hands still shake or the steady pool of sweat dripping down his back that has less to do with the blistering Kansas summer heat and pre-heating oven than his own nervousness. When his persistent mind travels back to the phone call with Ellen not an hour ago or he feels his eyes drawn to his cell sitting abandoned on the countertop across from him, he breathes deeply and begins to recite the recipe aloud to tether him to the present.

“One and a half sticks of butter. Three cups of flour. A teaspoon of salt, tablespoon of sugar. A half cup of –“ The door bangs open and effectively draws Dean out of his head just as the last bits of flour fall from the sifter into the large bowl. Dean can hear Charlie bumbling around in the living room, complaining about the summer heat, while he putter around in the kitchen rummaging for the sugar he knows is around there somewhere.

“Uh, oh my  _God_. How can you stand it in here with the oven on?” She asks when she finally makes an appearance into the kitchen. Dean doesn’t answer right away, not verbally anyway. Instead, he gives a shrug and noncommittal grunt all the while grimacing at the way his now-sweat damp shirt moves up his back. Not picking up on his mood, Charlie shuffles closer and peers over his shoulder. “Whatcha makin’, anyway?”

 “Pie,” he says all the while not taking his eyes off the butter as he cuts it into small cubes.

“Uh-oh. Are you alright? You haven’t had pie in weeks – not since Cas called you ‘pudgy’ at the Fourth of July barbeque.”

Dean rolls his eyes and sets the knife down on the counter before pushing the small bowl of butter away. Even in the teasing tone of her comments, he can register the concern underneath and  _knows_  beyond a shadow of a doubt that she isn’t going away any time soon. Unless she melts into a red headed puddle on the floor from heat, which has been a distinct possibility since the air conditioner died out last week and he’s been too busy at the hospital and helping out Bobby to fix it.

“Charlie, I’m just baking. Got in the mood for some pie and thought I’d make one.”

Her faces scrunches into what Dean assumes is a glare and her head cocks to the side in a way that tells Dean that she has been spending too much time with Cas. “Don’t lie to me, Winchester. You’ve got that weird pinched expression-thing going on,” she says gesturing wildly to his face, “and you’re self-soothing with pastry which, while it’s better than a bottle of Wild Turkey, still is a one-way ticket straight to the husky section when you have to buy all new pants given your level of man-pain.”

“Are you done, Chuckles?”

Charlie hesitates and the determined gleam in her eye makes Dean shift on his feet, his resolve waning. He sighs before plopping down heavily on a kitchen chair. Without asking, Charlie takes the seat across the table from him, folds her hands on the table top and waits patiently for Dean to gather his thoughts. He clears his throat and stares pointedly at the blank space just above her right shoulder. “Ellen called earlier.”

“Ok,” she says slowly. “Is everyone alright?” Charlie and Dean have been best friends for years and she knows him better than anyone, except maybe Cas but Dean knows that’s different. Charlie knows about Dean’s fucked up past and about how Ellen and Bobby swept into Dean’s shit storm of a life after John – Dean jerks out his thoughts when Charlie places a tentative hand over his. Their eyes meet briefly before Dean’s skitter away now to a spot on the table.

“Yeah. Yeah, everyone’s fine. She called to tell me that Sam stopped by The Roadhouse today. Looking for me.”

“Sam…as in your brother?”

“The very same. Said he’s in town for a few days and gave her his number to give to me.”

“Well, that’s good, right? I mean, you haven’t seen each other in over four years. This is a good thing, Dean.”

Dean tenses where he sits and slowly withdraws his hand from the comforting warmth of Charlie’s grasp.

“It was almost funny when Ellen gave me his number. She started rattling it off like she was doing me some sort of favor when lo and behold, it’s the same number he’s always had. The same number I called on his birthdays and Christmases that always went to voicemail, the same number the hospital called after Dad…” He sighs and drops his head into this hands. “Like I could forget it, the little bastard.”

He hears Charlie sigh and looks up to see her soft eyes watching him calmly. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“I’m gonna call him. Y’know, see what he has to say at least. But not now. Gonna play hard to get and make him sweat a little bit.”

“Well that’s good. I thought I was going to have to lecture you and prattle on and on about the importance of closure and moving on and yada yada ya. But my little Deanie Weenie is all grown up, it seems!” She reaches over with a grin, ready to ruffle his hair when he sits back in his chair and fixes her with a glare.

“If you touch me, you don’t get any pie.” Almost as quickly as she moved to stand, she flops back down into the chair with a sheepish expression.

“Fine, fine! Such a spoilsport. Have you told Cas yet?”

“Nah, he’s working a shift at the hospital and I didn’t want to bother him. We can talk when he gets off.”

“Is McDreamy coming over?”

Dean rolls his eyes again, this time though with fond amusement rather than annoyance. “You know he hates it when you call him that, right?”

Charlie shrugs without any remorse and grins over at Dean. “He only hates it when I say it in front of  _you_  because his ears go all pink. If he ever bothered to watch Grey’s Anatomy, he’d know I mean it as a compliment. But I’ll take your staunch avoidance as a yes. I’ll make myself scarce tonight so you can have the place to yourself to have as much loud and obnoxious gay sex as you want.” Charlie moves to stand and head back to the living room and Dean groans at her retreating back. He wipes the still-forming sweat from his brow and moves back to the counter and grimaces at the melting pile of butter before tossing it into the freezer to solidify once again.

 

Dean resumes work on his pie, this time now peeling and slicing apples when Charlie walks back into the kitchen and throws her arms around Dean’s middle. He huffs out a surprised burst of air and waits for her to pull away.

When she does, it’s with a suspicious sounding sniffle. “You know I’m proud of you, right? And you don’t have to say anything because I know it’ll be totally self-deprecating but I just wanted you to know. So is Cas. And so are Ellen, Bobby, and Jo. Sam is gonna be, too. And maybe a little bit heartbroken that he missed out on getting to know you all these years. So, yeah. Enjoy your pie and your date night with Dr. McHottie. Plus, don’t feel bad about sexiling me from our apartment because Gilda got this new  _massive_ bathtub installed at her place the other day and I am more than game to christen the thing all over again.”

Dean gives a watery laugh, staunchly refusing to turn and make eye contact with Charlie. “You do know you can only christen something once, right?”

Even without looking at her, Dean knows she’s shrugging with a proud smirk on her face. “Don’t take this away from me, Winchester.”

 

Dean’s slicing his last apple when Charlie calls out to let him know that she’s leaving and the door slams shut behind her. Finally alone once again, Dean places the knife down on the cutting board and wipes away at the moisture that trails down his face, stray tears mixing with sweat. He glances sideways at his phone before dusting off the remnants of flour that still cling to his hand and picking it up. Swiping the screen unlocked, he swallows thickly and opens a new text message to Sam with surprisingly steady hands.

_> >Ellen said you wanted to talk?_

When his phone pings to alert him that the message was sent, he opens another one to Cas.

_> >You should drop by tonight after your shift (if you’re not dead on your feet). I made pie and we’ve got the place to ourselves allllllll night. ;) ;)_

He knows Cas isn’t likely to respond right away and isn’t totally convinced that Sam will respond at all, so he sits his phone back down on the counter and goes back to his baking. It’s only when he slides the pie into the oven that his phone pings with an alert of a new text message. He’s half expecting a reply from Cas that consists solely of emjoiis and emoticons (because for a dude that talks like he just popped up out of a 19th century romance novel, he sure has a fondness for weird emojiis) but is surprised when the reply is from Sam instead.

_< <Hey, Dean (at least I’m assuming it’s you since Ellen refused to give me your number)_

_< <Are you free tomorrow around lunch? We could grab burgers… my treat?_

**Author's Note:**

> First part of a 'verse that will be expanded. Future stories will not be told in any particular order. But I do take requests!


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